


Another Form of Punishment

by heckinghiddles



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Hiddleston - Fandom, Loki: Agent of Asgard, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Classroom Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom Tom, Dom/sub, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, One Shot, Professor Tom, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckinghiddles/pseuds/heckinghiddles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young college student oversleeps and misses just the beginning of her Advanced English Literature class, how will her harsh teacher, Professor Hiddleston, react? Will he dock points, give her detention, or... accept another form of punishment?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Form of Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey guys! So, this is my first attempt at a Tom Hiddleston fanfiction - Well, a Professor!Tom fanfic. If you guys like it, I might end up extending this into an entire story based off of these two characters. Enjoy!

You were screwed. Eternally, incredibly, undoubtedly screwed.

It was Monday morning, and you had overslept. The lure of sleep had washed over you, keeping you held tightly within its grasp fifteen minutes after you were supposed to be out the door. Eyes flashing open, you sat up in bed with a gasp, noticing the time displayed on the alarm clock as anxiety rushed through you.

7:15.

Shit.

Throwing yourself from the enticing warmth of the pile of blankets on your mattress, you stumbled from bed and hurried over to your dresser, yanking a drawer open hurriedly before slipping on your favorite pair of jeans that clung to your legs tightly and kept you temperate during the frigid months of winter.

Shit, shit, shit.

At this rate, you’d be at least five minutes late to your first class of the day: Advanced English Literature. 

And Professor Hiddleston never tolerated late-comers.

You mentally slapped yourself for being so reckless and forgetting to set your alarm as you threw your morning mop of hair into a bun, securing it with an elastic and sighing at your reflection in the mirror. In your mid-twenties, you certainly weren’t lacking in the looks department. With soft features, sleek hair, and a smooth complexion, you couldn’t complain at all about what you’d been given. But then again, you supposed that you weren’t anything special, either.

After dusting a light addendum of makeup along your creamy skin, you hurried to your closet and yanked on a pair of boots, lacing them up hurriedly. 

Professor Hiddleston was going to kill you. You just knew it. The English teacher never let off any student easily when they missed even a second of his precious class time. He was strict about the time he had, and passionate for the subject in which he taught. And you loved English Lit! You really did. But being late was going to give Professor Hiddleston a reason to hate you, and you faced the realization that his class was probably going to get ten times harder after this little encounter.

Finally, after throwing your laptop and extensive notes about Wuthering Heights, the piece of classic English literature written by Emily Bronte that you’d been assigned for the week, you slung the bag over your shoulder and ran down the stairs. Your footsteps pounded against the old dorm staircase, no doubt waking your roommates who didn’t have class until a few hours later. But you didn’t care. You had five minutes to spare, and you needed to get to Professor Hiddleston’s class on time. 

The sun was rising high in the crisp winter air, a bright mixture of oranges, reds, and pinks swirling in the early morning sky. Your breath created puffs of air into the cold atmosphere, increasing in size as you ran across the campus grounds; the chilling bite of the season creating a blush in your cheeks and a stinging in your eyes that caused them to water just slightly.

Almost there. Two minutes until class started.

Your feet hurried along the sidewalk, and you breathed out a sigh of relief as you approached the main doors to the communication arts building. But as your hand reached forward to grip the cold handle and pull it forward… 

You panicked.

It wouldn’t budge. The door was locked. 

Which means you would have to run to the side entrance and fight your way through the maze of corridors to get to Professor Hiddleston’s lecture hall. 

Nope. You were screwed after all. There was no way you’d be on time.

Sighing heavily, your heart racing as anxiety kicked in and rushed through your veins, you turned and raced along the frost that covered the once lush grass, the blades crunching beneath your every step. What kind of utter asshole decided to lock the door before class began? It was just your luck that the one day you needed a break, you didn’t get one. You were a great student! Though English wasn’t necessarily your favorite subject, you still made it a priority to study each piece of literature the professor gave you, and you’d fought your way to become one of the top students in the class.

But that wouldn’t stop Professor Hiddleston from deducting you points because of your late arrival.

By the time you made your way into the large building packed with drowsy students carelessly shuffling to and from class, it was 7:34. Exactly four minutes past when you were supposed to be in Advanced English Literature. By now, Professor Hiddleston had probably already collected the research reports on Wuthering Heights and began his explanation on the plot behind the book.

As you arrived at room 107, your hand paused on the door handle, hesitating on opening it. What would the middle aged man do? Ignore you, probably. But from what you’d heard around school, it was rumored that the professor with a love of literature gave students an automatic F for the day if they arrived late. Your parents were expecting straight A’s, and if you let them down, well… It wouldn’t be good. At all.

But you had to try and make your way inside anyhow. Maybe Professor Hiddleston wouldn’t even notice!

Ha! That was a good one.

Gathering all the courage you had within you, you eventually pulled the large door open and stepped inside, letting it shut behind you with an unintentional slam. 

Shit!

You kept your eyes glued to the floor, even as you felt the wandering eyes of the students already in their lecture seats gazing at you curiously. Making your way to your seat, you didn’t dare look at your professor. You could only imagine what his smoldering gaze would do to you; filled with so much disappointment and stern authority.

“You’re late.” 

Oh, god. That accent. It was full, deep, and husky; the words rolling off his tongue as sensually as nothing else you’d heard before. Hearing him say the simplest words was like hearing poetry from the mouth of Shakespeare himself.

Damn him. 

Truth be told, Professor Hiddleston was probably one of the most attractive men you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting in the entire span of your life. Complete with prominent cheekbones, bright blue eyes, a defined jawline and the mess of brown hair on his hair, the English teacher caught the heart of almost every girl who ever entered his classroom. And dammit, his stern attitude towards everything he did made him that much more desirable. You’d heard gossip that traveled throughout the large campus set in the north; gossip of the students in his class planning on dressing provocatively to his class; attempting to seduce the man after the lecture had ended and all the students had evacuated the room.

And from what you’d also heard, none of the attempts had been successful. It proved the idiotic sluts right.

“I know. I’m sorry, Professor.” You begin, forcing yourself to lift your gaze and direct it to the man. “I ran late this morning, and the main entrance was locked-”

“Excuses are not permitted here. Or did you forget that?” He smiled sinisterly towards you, his lips spreading upwards in a smirk that sent an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“Right. I apologize.” Was all you murmured, dropping your gaze back to your notes and keeping it there, your cheeks burning and heart racing. You were in for it. He’d probably give your report on Wuthering Heights a bad grade, even though you’d spent practically the whole weekend slaving over it. And dammit, it was one of the best reports you’d ever written!

Professor Hiddleston simply turned, adjusting his tie before continuing his speech about Emily Bronte’s quote on quote “masterpiece of the 1800’s”.

The rest of class passed by in a blur, and you tried your best to keep up with the speed of your professor’s lecture, hurriedly writing down key information you thought you’d need to know for your mid-term. 

“That’s all for today. Make sure you all know the complexity behind Wuthering Heights. It is not just some infidelity about physical and mental abuse. There is a crucial theme behind it, and it is your place, as students, to decipher that in time for the exam next week. I expect to see all of you tomorrow… On time.” Casting a cool smirk in your direction, the attractive man waved a slender hand, dismissing the class.

You felt your heart slow in relief as you closed your notebook, packing your things away into your bag. Good. He didn’t seem too angry, did he?

“Not you. I’d like to see you in my office.”

Maybe not. 

Shit.

You felt your skin tingle at the way your name rolled off his tongue, and once again gave yourself a mental slap for being so attracted to the way he spoke, look, and acted. For Christ’s sake, you were probably about to be told your exam grade was an automatic zero, and here you were fawning over the teacher!

With a racing pulse, you slowly pulled your bag over your shoulder and took a deep breath before following the professor into his office. 

Shutting the door behind him, you swallowed when he locked the door, the prominent sound of the ‘click’ when the metal latched into place instantly settling fear into your stomach. The two of you were alone now; the rest of the class attendants having left to grab a bite to eat, or study, or do who knows what. 

“Have a seat.”

Nodding, you hesitantly sat in a cushioned chair in front of his desk, watching warily as Professor Hiddleston sat in his own chair, folding his large hands together and laying them onto the wooden table. The aristocratic features of his face were set in a rigid pose, his expression certainly not sending forth a friendly signal.

“I am disappointed. One of my top students, you are, and late? On a Monday, no less.” The level of his voice had dropped a few octaves; airy, and you clenched your jaw to remain in control of your own body as a twinge arousal flooded through you.

“I-I know, Professor.” You cleared your throat and sent him a small smile, glancing to the inhumanly beautiful lines of his face before averting your gaze once more. “I overslept, and there’s no excuse for it, but I promise you that it won’t happen again.”

“Hm.” A part of you was surprised to see a small smile appear on his lips, and hope surged through you quicker than an animal chasing it’s prey. “Don’t act so terrified, darling. I don’t bite.” He purred, leaning forward slightly before breathing out a sigh.

“However,” He began, and that hope that filled you almost immediately left. “I have a no late-comer’s policy; which you’re familiar with, no doubt.” A small smirk spread along his thin lips, and he leaned back into the cushion of his chair, dangling one long leg over the other as he crossed his arms.

You didn’t say anything; only stared to the man before you in anticipation. Thousands of horrible outcomes flashed through your mind: suspension from the class, deduction of points from the final exam, even expulsion from his lectures. Of course, the last one was particularly unlikely. But you couldn’t help but worry, especially considering the fact that the professor himself had taken the scenario of you being a little late so seriously that he forced you to stay after class.

Glancing to you with the deep cerulean of his eyes, he raised a challenging brow, staring at you as if he expected a reply. When you didn’t give one, he gave a ‘tsk’ and stood to his feet, turning his back to you as he organized some books on a shelf. “Breaking a rule in my classroom is not something to be taken lightly, miss. I’m afraid this conundrum you’ve wedged yourself in cannot be forgiven… Not without a punishment of some sort.”

“I…” You stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat. “I was only a few minutes late, professor! Please don’t deduct points on next week’s exam, or my report on Wuthering Heights. I worked really hard on that!” You knew attempting to argue would be no use; Professor Hiddleston was very stubborn when it came to his class.

Professor Hiddleston turned with a file in his hands that he’d plucked from a filing cabinet, adjusting his glasses on the sharp ridge of his nose before opening the manila folder. Flipping through a few pages, it was if he had completely ignored your plead for forgiveness. “Perfect attendance record, straight A marks, listed down as most cooperative in class… My my, you’re quite the student, aren’t you? I suppose you expect me to let you off easily just because you are slightly superior to the other students in my lecture hall?” The question was hung heavily with sarcasm, and you knew that he didn’t expect an answer to fall from your lips. The damn bastard was being a smartass.

“Of course not.” Chuckling, he gently closed the folder and set it onto the edge of his desk before clasping his large hands behind his back. “While I can’t let you go freely without a consequence…” The tall man took a few strides forward, wandering behind you. Your heart sped up, but you didn’t dare turn around or let curiosity get the best of you. You just wanted to get out of that room; get away from being trapped in a small space with his silky voice, handsome features, and witty come-backs. Before you could comprehend what was going on, he placed his hands on either side of the top of your chair, leaning down to murmur his words close to your ear.

“I might be willing to accept some other form of punishment.”

Shit. 

You tried to will your pulse to stop speeding along, but it was no use. Why was he so close!? And that voice, oh god that voice… 

“I’m sorry, professor… I don’t understand.” You managed to squeak out, eyes wide and focused to the random wooden swirls lining the floor.

A small laugh resonated from the depths of his throat, and he smirked to himself before pulling away, his tone averting back to the demanding haughtiness it once held. “Do not play coy with me,” He started, shaking his head. “I have seen the way you stare at me while you believe I’m not looking. The way your cheeks glow red when I call on you in class. The way you cross your legs and bite your lip when I read Shakespeare. I am no idiot.” 

Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Was this really happening? Why, of all the students in the class, was he choosing you to toy with? You squeezed your thighs together to attempt and stop the warmth that seeped from your core and soaked your panties, but it was no use. The jerk’s words were turning you on, and there was absolutely nothing you could do. “I-I…”

“You desire me.” He snapped, making his way up to you again, bringing a slender hand to brush your hair from one shoulder. Leaning down, his breath was fiery hot against your cool skin, a shiver running down your spine as he whispered into your ear. “Do you not?”

You did. Of course you did. Any living female would be an idiot to not desire this flawless man. Exhaling a shaky breath, your hands gripped the handles of the wooden chair you sat in before you responded. “Y-yes.”

“Stand up.” He commanded, nipping at the lobe of your ear before stepping backwards once more. The professor growled when you didn’t automatically comply.

“Now.”

Probably a little more frantic than you should have, you stumbled up, beginning to turn around to face the man who had suddenly showed you a side of him you never thought existed. But before you could make the complete turn, his hands were on your shoulders, forcing you back around and shoving your body forward. “Hands on the desk.” He hissed, and you placed your palms against the smooth wood, bent in front of the man. 

You were at his mercy, now, and there was nothing you could do about it. Not that you wanted to do anything to stop it, by any means. The desire that rushed through your veins for the middle-aged man behind you was incomparable to anything else you’d ever felt. You were a goody-two-shoes. A shy, quiet girl, and the feeling of doing something so forbidden made you feel, well… alive. 

Stepping in close to you, Professor Hiddleston pressed himself against your back, his lithe body curved against yours. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to ignore the feeling of the evident arousal he held for you straining against his trousers, jutting into your backside. Your cheeks were probably no doubt a bright shade of crimson. 

Professor Hiddleston’s hand began to inch towards the hem of your shirt; slender fingers, slipping beneath it to explore the smooth skin there. Gasping at the cold contact, your eyes snapped open and you craned your head to gaze at the man, his palm sliding upwards before dipping underneath one of the cups of your bra. 

And it felt amazing.

His touch sent shivers down your spine, the constant exhale of hot breathing against your neck adding into the sensation.

“Relax.” He murmured against the shell of your ear. But how were you supposed to relax when your English professor was seducing you on his own desk, in the privacy of his own office?

Pulling his hand away, he skillfully unbuttoned your jeans, sliding down the zipper slowly, almost teasingly before yanking them downwards. “Off.” He commanded, and you hurriedly complied, kicking the denim to the side. As soon as the fabric was off of your body, Professor Hiddleston took the task of your panties into his own hands. Hooking his fingers into the elastic band, he pushed them down, the lace clinging to your thighs as he settled them just underneath the supple cheeks of your backside.

“Mm.” The husky tone of his voice as a large hand came up to cup one of your cheeks caused wetness to leak from your core, soaking your thighs in a matter of minutes. “What punishment do you think is suitable, darling? Hm?”

You didn’t dare answer. You knew he didn’t want one.

“No ideas? Well… I think a spanking will suffice, don’t you?”

And with that, his large hand came down onto your ass heavily, a resonating smack sounding through the room. Yelping, you lurched forward, the pain of the hit surprising you just a little.

“I need you to count for me. We’ll give you five for being a naughty little minx, alright? Speak up, darling.”  
He didn’t give you time to reply.

The next smack came down a bit lighter than the first one, but it didn’t hurt any less. Needles of pain stabbed at your right cheek, and you felt a gasp leave your body. But fuck, why was it turning you on so much?

“What was that?” He growled, bringing his palm down onto your ass heavily.

Whimpering, you gripped the edge of the desk and the simple word out. “O-one!”

“Good girl.” He purred, before swinging his left hand down onto your other creamy cheek, not lessening the harsh proximity of his movements. 

“Two!”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“T-three! Ah… I… Four! Professor- Five!”

Professor Hiddleston slid both hands along your reddened flesh, massaging the tender skin with a groan of approval. Moving his hand slowly along your hip, he used his other to force your legs apart before slipping a finger into your drenched folds. “So wet for me already, are you? Did that turn you on?” He chuckled, his forefinger skimming over your clit momentarily. You moaned out in need, arching against his body. God, you wanted him. No, you needed him.

“Turn around and get onto your knees.” He growled out, his body leaving contact with yours.

Shakily, you attempted to regain composure before straightening your body from the uncomfortable position of the desk, turning and sinking down onto your knees.

“Suck my cock.” 

You could’ve moaned right there. The crude words that flowed from his mouth shot arousal through your body like a wave crashing to shore. Professor Hiddleston stared down at you with dark blue eyes, his thin lips set into a smirk. Inhaling a deep breath, you moved your fingers upwards to unbuckle his belt, the clanking of metal against metal the only sound in the small room. Once you got it open, you unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

You wanted to impress him. 

Placing your hand against the fabric of his boxers, you cupped his pulsing cock. And fuck, he wasn’t lacking in the size department. At all. The way he hissed at your mere touch urged you on further, and so you daringly leaned forward, placing a kiss to his fabric clad erection, your eyes straining upwards to observe his expression. You observed the way his forehead creased as he furrowed his brows together, the way the muscles in his neck moved as he tilted his head back, and the way his lips parted as he let out a small breath of pleasure. 

Mimicking his actions from earlier, you too pushed your small fingers into the elastic of his undergarments, before pulling both his trousers and boxers down in one steady movement. His cock jutted out at you proudly, and you swallowed at the mere sight of it. It was hard; pulsing with need as precum leaked from the tip. The head was swollen, glaring redly at you. And like his body, his cock was long. You shivered at the idea of it sliding deep within your walls; stretching you and filling you up so deliciously…

Curling a hand around the base of his cock, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue upwards, tracing the length. You could feel every ridge and vein; feel the throbbing of the erection. Closing your eyes, you swirled your tongue around the tip of him, tasting his precum completely with a hum of approval. He even tasted good; a mixture of salt and sweetness.

“Enough.” He sneered, and you felt his large hands tangle into your hair, his fingers brushing along your scalp as he scolded you. “Open your mouth and put your lips around me. No more teasing.”

You were more than glad to comply to his request. Parting your lips, you allowed the tip of his cock to slide into your mouth, relishing in the grunt that sounded from the man above you. With as much leverage as you could with the restraint of his fists in your hair, you took him in, running your tongue along the hot flesh. 

It wasn’t long before Professor Hiddleston was rocking slightly into the bobbing movements of your head as you sucked him off, and not long after that was it that he held your head firmly into place and began fucking your face.

His cock pushed deep into your throat, causing you to gag slightly and your eyes to water. Groaning loudly, the middle-aged man hissed out a “fuck yes” before rolling his hips quickly against your willing mouth. You kept your lips tight around him, despite finding yourself short of breath when he sank deep. It wasn’t until he released his grip on you and pulled away that you could allow yourself to inhale a gust of oxygen.

“Up.” He barked, his hand coming closed into a fist around his wet cock, the skin of the large organ a reddish purple now that he had been stimulated. Hurriedly, you stood to your feet and allowed him to shove you face first against the desk, a foot kicking your legs apart. You inhaled a sharp breath when you felt the velvety head nudge against your folds, and you turned to hesitantly look back at him.

The middle-aged man cocked a brow at you, as if sensing your hesitation. Twisting his thin lips into a smirk and narrowing his blue eyes down at you, he spoke. “Having second thoughts, are we? Mm. But I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?” 

And oh god, he was right. All you could do was nod; your mind was reeling as he slid the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. 

“So wet for me,” he murmured. “So ready.” 

And with that, the professor slowly began to push his heavy cock into you, each inch sinking in deliciously. You gripped at the desk harshly, your knuckles turning white as you tried to get used to him. Truthfully, his girth was wider than most, and it was a bit of a shock for her as she was tentatively stretched out. When he was buried to the hilt, you heard him let out a low groan, his hands sliding down to rest at your hips. 

“Fuck,” he strained, his voice a low growl. “Your cunt is heaven, darling. You’re so tight.” 

Your senses were heightened, and all you could focus on was him. Professor Hiddleston pulled out, leaving just the head of him in your folds before snapping his hips forward and slamming back into you. Lifting your head, you let out a loud moan, your body jerking forward from the sheer force of the thrusting. “P-professor!”  
“Moan for me. I want to hear your pleasure.” Leaning down, the English Literature teacher whispered the naughty words into your ear, rocking his hips forcefully against your backside. 

And of course, all you could do was comply to his wishes. “I-I…” You mewled, your eyes squinting shut as he began to circle his hips in a most alluring way, his veiny cock brushing onto all the right places within you. Letting out a cry of desire, you dropped your head to rest against the desk, the intense pleasure surging within you nearly too much to bear.

But the professor wasn’t having any of that. Weaving a hand through your hair, he yanked harshly, and your neck snapped back almost painfully until you were staring up at those sharp features of his. Grinning, he never let up his relentless pace, his cock slipping in and out of you at a rapid pace. “Do you like this, darling? The feeling of my hard cock in your tight little cunt? Does it make you feel dirty, letting your English professor fuck you?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. Simply nodding, you gasped out another moan, feeling your release building deep within your abdomen; climbing higher to the precipice of nirvana with each harsh thrust.

It was evident that the older man was close, as well. His thrusts began to become erratic, the unsteady pace only pushing you further to orgasm. The sound of skin smacking against skin filled your ears, along with the filthy slick sounds of his cock entering you over and over again. “I’m going to cum,” he warned, his breaths heavy and hot against your neck.

It only took three more thrusts for you to reach your peak, the strong sensation of your climax washing over you like an ocean wave. Your body jerked and you yelled out, the tight canal of your cunt squeezing Professor Hiddleston’s cock as he continued pounding into you. 

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

And with that, the man groaned deeply, the sound raw and gruff as he stilled. You felt the stickiness of his warm seed coat your inner walls, and not soon after the feeling of his body pressed up against your back. Both of you were silent for a while, the only sound in the cold room being the heavy breaths escaping your lips.

After a moment, the professor pulled out of you, and you nearly whimpered to the loss of his cock. Pulling up his pants, the man tucked his now soft organ away, zipping his trousers and buckling his belt. “My my, who knew you were such a little minx, hmm? That was fun.” 

“S-so… You won’t mark my tardiness down in my record, then?” You quietly spoke up, feeling both humiliated and strangely fulfilled at the same time.

Professor Hiddleston’s response was a chuckle, and he turned to you, his grey-blue eyes roaming over your body as you pulled on your clothes, fixing your ruffled shirt and skirt. “Mm. But of course, darling…”

A sigh of relief escaped your lungs, and you chewed at your bottom lip, smiling before picking up your school bag. Right as you were about to leave the luxurious office, the deep voice of the professor chimed in once more.

“However… Perhaps you should be late more often.”

{The End}


End file.
